


Static and Desperation

by oh_mr_adams



Category: 1776 (1972), 1776 - Edwards/Stone
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, i bang out the worst shit at 1 am let me tell ya, i dont even know what compelled me to write this, ish?, me actually referencing canon events? more likely than you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 02:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15403320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_mr_adams/pseuds/oh_mr_adams
Summary: Lyman Hall wishes he weren't so weak.





	Static and Desperation

“Doctor Hall.”   
  
Lyman heard his name called out quietly, desperately from behind him. John’s voice cracked and Lyman balled his hands into fists, gripping tightly at the fabric of his coat. Guilt and anxiety clawed at his chest and his brain was overloaded with multitudes of conflicting commands. He stopped in his tracks and whipped around quickly to face the man who’d followed him to the door. Nausea flooded his stomach and he wanted nothing more than to say something, anything at that point. But he had no idea what he would say, what he could say. His eyes met John’s for an agonizing moment and Lyman wished he could just be invisible, or that he’d never existed in the first place like he had wished so many times throughout his life. His mouth fell open slightly, but there was no point in speaking. No words could make up for what had just happened. For what crimes his countrymen had committed. For the crimes he himself had partaken in.    
  
He almost felt like crying as John stood there, shaking but not saying anything. John was expecting something from him, words, comfort, anything, but Lyman was entirely unable to do anything to remedy the situation. He was weak. Helpless. Unable to face his fears like John could.    
  
And so he turned and ran. Not in the physical sense, no, but he ran like he always did. From the church. From Connecticut. From himself. His throat was sore with unspoken words and his eyes burned with fear and guilt until he found himself outside under the stars, surrounded by the humid night air and silence. He pushed his hands through his hair nervously, causing thick, grey locks to spill out from where they’d been so neatly tied. His chest felt tight with anxiety and the dense air didn’t make it any easier to breathe. His mind was racing with a thousand conflicting ideals and he gripped his hair tightly, leaning against the brick outer wall of the state house and screwing his eyes shut. His lips parted slightly as his breathing became more shallow and rapid, and his legs and arms went cold with adrenaline. His conscious was overwhelmed with self-hatred, confusion, and ultimately, fear.    
  
Everything stopped when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. The screaming in his head was suddenly silenced and his breath caught in his chest. His grip on his hair loosened.    
  
“Lyman.”    
  
Lyman blinked his eyes open and let his arms fall to his sides. He looked at the man in front of him, the blue eyes still bright under the darkness of night. He looked down at the freckled, manicured hand on his shoulder in silence, then back up at the eyes of its owner. Lyman’s tongue felt like lead and so he simply stood there numbly, his dark eyes entirely unfocused and exhausted.   
  
“Lyman, are you alright?” He repeated in his usual deep, southern accent. He was quiet, though his voice still betrayed some uncharacteristic worry as he peered into Lyman’s eyes. “You looked like you were freaking out there, for a while.” Lyman swallowed, and gave a shaky nod, trying to gain control over his body again. The warmth returned to his hands, but they continued to tremble, hanging loosely at his sides, and he tried to mask his weakness by leaning against the wall behind him.    
  
“I-” his voice came out an embarrassing crack, “I’m quite alright, Mr. Rutledge.” Edward didn’t look convinced by that but took his hand from Lyman’s shoulder. He cocked his head a few degrees to the side.    
  
“Are you sure? You don’t seem… alright,” He murmured, not sure how far to press the issue. Lyman nodded, shakily at first but then a bit more forcefully, as if he were trying to convince himself that he was, in fact, alright. In all truth, these attacks had plagued him since childhood, a constant, gnawing fear in his stomach that often kept him up at night. Most nights he wished he were a child again, so he could simply run off and hide, away from the responsibility and burden that constantly threatened to drown him in his own thoughts.   
  
“Yes. I’m alright.” He said it sternly, reassuring both himself and Edward that he was going to be okay. It was a pathetic lie, and he could tell that Edward could see that, but Edward could either tell that Lyman didn’t want talk about it or simply didn’t care. After another brief but concerned glance, Edward gently placed a hand on Lyman’s bicep, like he often tended to do, his touch warm and reassuring. Edward looked off down the street, finally tearing his gaze from Lyman’s eyes, and Lyman felt his heart slowly cease hammering in his chest.    
  
“Come, dear doctor,” Edward said quietly as he slowly guided Lyman down the street, “I think you need to rest.” Rest. That sounded good. His legs still felt slightly numb as he walked, almost tripping and causing Edward to give a surprised yelp, clinging tighter to Lyman’s side as if to keep him from falling. Edward chided his companion for being so clumsy but Lyman couldn’t quite hear, like he was separated from the outside world by a cloud of static. He felt exhausted and the screaming in his head had returned, but more distanced, like a panicked survival instinct his body was too tired to execute. 

 

After a few minutes of walking in silence, Lyman worked up the energy to speak. “Are you taking me home?” He asked, his throat aching with the words. Edward paused. He moved his hand to Lyman’s lower back, visibly worried that he might fall over at any given time.   
  
“If you like,” He said as he started walking again, “Or we could go to mine. It’s a few blocks closer, but hardly an actual difference.” His eyes remained on the sidewalk.   
  
“Yours is fine,” Lyman replied, his voice hardly more than a whisper. Edward looked back up at him with either worry or pity. Lyman couldn’t tell the two apart. When his eyes met Edward’s another sharp pang of fear hit his chest and he bit down on the inside of his cheek. So many conflicting feelings he couldn’t decipher made him just want to curl up in a ball and hide somewhere, away from all this fear and panic and stress.    
  
And yet here he was, about to share a bed with the man who’d caused a great deal of this anxiety, like he’d done nearly every night for the past month. It was Edward who would always calm him down, make him feel safe when his brain was attacking him, and yet looking in on himself, it was Edward too, who’d been at the root of all of this uncertainty. All of this fear. The feeling of Edward’s hand on his back was warm and reassuring, but Lyman’s chest tightened when he thought of tomorrow, of the vote, and of standing up for what he believed in his heart to be right. The last few weeks he’d spent with Edward, those nights together and those gently whispered words of encouragement in his ear had been some of the best in his life, and yet they’d been swallowed by the white, background noise of his constant fear, looming over him and controlling his every movement. He’d lay awake at night, trembling, long after Edward had fallen asleep beside him, wishing he could just run away again. Not from Edward, or from his job, but from himself and his damnable weakness.    
  
By the time he roused himself from his thoughts, Edward was unlocking his front door and ushering him in. Lyman stood numbly in the entrance of Edward’s apartment as Edward took his coat from his trembling hands, carefully hanging it on the rack next to the doorway. When the door was shut and locked again, Edward placed his hands on Lyman’s hips, looking up into his eyes with a sad expression.   
  
“You’re not alright, Lyman. That much is evident.”    
  
Lyman’s lips parted, and he tried to say “I’ll live”, or “I’m fine,” but the words didn’t come and he just weakly shrugged. He couldn’t meet Edward’s eyes, and instead just focused on the far wall of the apartment before Edward sighed and nudged him upstairs.    
  
By the time he’d made it up the stairs every muscle in Lyman’s body ached and he collapsed ungracefully into bed, staring up at the ceiling as one leg draped over the side of the bed. Edward looked at him with a tired, yet somewhat amused smile and poked him in the side.    
  
“Sit up,” he ordered gently, and Lyman obeyed. His eyes blinked heavily as Edward bent over in front of him, slowly and meticulously unbuttoning his waistcoat, before tugging the clothing off of his shoulders and placing it neatly on the nightstand beside him. He then reached past Lyman’s neck and deftly untied the ribbon loosely holding his hair in place. As he pulled it out in one fluid movement, he leaned forward and pressed a gentle, yet firm kiss to Lyman’s jaw. Lyman closed his eyes and felt a sudden warmth at the feeling of Edward’s breath on his neck. Edward then gently pushed Lyman back into bed and began undressing himself, taking much less care with his own garments, letting them fall to the floor in a heap. He crawled into bed beside the older man and turned on his side to look at him. Lyman met Edward’s fond gaze but didn’t have the strength to smile, instead just loosely wrapping an arm over Edward’s side and pressing his face into Edward’s chest.   
  
“What’s wrong, love?” Edward repeated softly, his uncharacteristic patience both reassuring and unnerving.    
  
“I don’t know,” Lyman croaked.  _ I’m scared, _ he thought,  _ I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared of what will happen tomorrow. I’m scared of what will happen if I vote with you. I’m scared of what will happen if I vote against you. I’m scared of what will happen if I just run away again and I’m scared of what will happen if I don’t. I’m scared that I’m going to live the rest of my life like this, drowning in uncertainty and fear. I’m scared. _ “I don’t know, I don’t know.”   
  
Edward didn’t respond for a moment, and if he’d made any expression with his face, Lyman didn’t see it. Edward simply tilted his head down slightly and pressed a kiss into Lyman’s hair.    
  
“Sleep, love. You’ll feel better in the morning,” he whispered.   
  
“Promise?” Lyman cringed at his own childish question. He felt pathetic, but something inside of him just needed to be told he’d be okay.    
  
“I promise.” It did little to ease Lyman’s fears, but he gave a small nod of acceptance and buried his face deeper into Edward’s chest.    
  
In only a few minutes, Edward’s light breathing became gentle snores and his hold on Lyman’s waist relaxed. With a shaky sigh, Lyman rolled over so his back was to Edward’s sleeping form and clutched desperately to his pillow, trying to ease the shaking in his hands. He thought he was getting better, he really did. Sleeping next to someone, feeling a warm embrace at night had helped at first, but his fears only grew until he felt just as alone in Edward’s arms as he did anywhere else. His cheeks got warmer and tears pricked in his eyes and he gripped his pillow tighter. He was not going to cry. He clenched his jaw as his body refused to cooperate with his wishes and he forced his face into his pillow, which muffled the sobs that shook his body.   
  
As much as he hated to admit it, whoever had told him that crying would make you feel better may have been right. Though, he wasn’t sure if he quite felt better. He just felt even more exhausted, if that were even possible. He knew though, that no matter how tired he got he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. It was becoming an increasingly worse issue, having scarcely slept eight hours in the previous two nights. The air in the room was becoming increasingly more stifling, though all the windows were open, and Lyman laid out on his back, careful not to disturb the man sleeping beside him. Both his throat and his head ached, and he wanted nothing more than to pass out, no matter if he’d wake up the next day or not. But his wishes rarely came true and he continued staring at the ceiling.    
  
Perhaps it was the anxiety-fueled adrenaline in his veins or some exhausted delusion, or perhaps some ungodly mixture of the two, but Lyman eventually forced himself up out of bed, standing awkwardly as the blood rushed to his head, and grabbed his clothes from the nightstand next to him. He clumsily tied his hair back up and pulled on his waistcoat, ignoring the buttons in the dark and made his way downstairs. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing or where he was going but he toed on his shoes and unlocked the door, shutting it slowly, carefully behind him.    
  
He’d been walking for twenty minutes, not fully in control of his body when he paused in front of the state house. He supposed that since this was his usual route to work every morning, of course, his body would simply take him there. He slowly went up the stairs to the front door. He doubted anyone would still be inside. He rested his hand on the doorknob curiously, and his previous assumption was overwritten when it turned in his grip, not yet locked. He pushed the door open slowly, perhaps Mr. Thomson or Mr. McNair were still in there, tidying things up before they went home. It was awfully late for that, he pondered as he walked into the hall.   
  
_ “I see Americans, all Americans free, forevermore!” _ __  
__  
Lyman was jolted out of his thoughts by a voice coming from the darkness of the congressional chamber. It was hard to see in the dim light, but he gave a small smile nonetheless. That voice was unmistakable. He stepped into the room quietly, still unseen and watched John Adams from across the room, his figure illuminated by dim candlelight.    
  
“Is anybody there?” John asked quietly, with the same desperation in his voice as when he called out for Lyman earlier. “Does anybody care?” Lyman felt a pang of guilt in his chest. If only he hadn’t been so weak. If only he’d stood up for what he believed in from the beginning. John might not be here now, singing desperately to the darkness for an answer.   
  
“Does anybody see what I see?”   
  
And for the first real time that night, Lyman spoke. “I do, Mr. Adams.”   
  
Lyman immediately winced, feeling both guilt and amusement at John’s expense as John visibly jumped at the sound of his voice. Apparently Lyman’s voice wasn’t as unmistakable as John’s as it took John a moment to visibly relax.   
  
“Doctor Hall…” He breathed, and Lyman nervously scratched the back of his head. A flustered smile twitched on his lips.   
  
“I didn’t mean to startle you…” John picked up his coat hastily, embarrassed at being caught like this. It didn’t seem to him like John was going to respond, so Lyman continued. “I couldn’t sleep,” John’s eyes flicked up to meet Lyman’s at that, “And in resolving my…” Lyman bit his lip, unsure of how to describe the pain that had been plaguing him these past weeks, “...dilemma… I’d remembered something I’d once read.” John’s shoulders relaxed slightly and he gave a small, encouraging nod. Lyman inhaled slightly. He’d been thinking this over for weeks, but saying it aloud felt rather foolish. “That a representative owes his people not only his industry, but his judgment. And he betrays them if he sacrifices it to their opinion.”    
  
John didn’t visibly react, perhaps still somewhat unsure of Lyman’s meaning. Hands still trembling, Lyman walked across the room, trying somewhat to appear purposeful. He stopped in front of the far wall and rested his fingers on the small slab of wood labeled ‘G.A.’ and slid it into the ‘yea’ column with a satisfying thump. After a moment of silence, he turned back around, feeling slightly embarrassed for making such a big deal of it, and walked quickly to the door with a hastily muttered, “Goodnight, Mr. Adams.” He’d almost reached the door when he was stopped cold by his name once more, just like he’d been a few hours ago.   
  
“Dr. Hall. Wait.” Lyman turned around once again to see John standing a few feet away from him. John took another step closer and Lyman could see that the look in his eyes wasn’t the same as before. It wasn’t desperate or scared but relieved. John took another step forward and held up a hand hesitantly. “I…” Lyman didn’t speak, just looked at him with a calm curiosity. John looked nervously down at his shoes and returned his hand to his side. “Thank you…” He muttered.   
  
Lyman gave a tired smile. “It’s nothing, John.” His throat still ached but talking didn’t hurt as much as before. “I only wish… I had said something sooner.” He looked away. “I’m sorry for being so… weak earlier and-”   
  
“You aren’t weak.” It was spoken rapidly, but firmly and Lyman could see that John was still trembling slightly in the dark. “Confused. Frightened, maybe. But you are not a weak man.” Lyman’s lips parted and tears formed in his eyes. He hastily wiped them away and John gave him a kind smile. “You came when I needed you most. And… I thank you for that.” Lyman didn’t know how to respond, and John carefully, nervously, placed a hand on Lyman’s hip. Lyman looked down at the hand on his side. Small, calloused and strong but with a gentle grip. Lyman smiled when he thought of it as a reflection of the man himself. John was still staring nervously at Lyman’s chest and Lyman slowly put an arm around John’s shoulders, bringing the smaller man in closer to him. The two stood like that for a moment, in an awkward, half-embrace, and Lyman suddenly noticed that for once the static in his head was gone. He felt warm and safe, and he wasn’t sure if that was a product of finally making up his mind, John’s presence, or both.    
  
Suddenly the coat fell from John’s fingers and his hand reached up to cup Lyman’s cheek, his fingertips gently grazing Lyman’s hair as he stood up on his toes and tilted Lyman’s head downwards, pressing their lips together. Lyman blinked in surprise for only a moment. His eyes then fell shut and every muscle in his body relaxed to the warmth of John’s lips against his.    
  
His eyes opened a few seconds after John had slowly pulled away. Lyman blinked in the dim light and saw that John’s cheeks were tinged pink, either from being out of breath or from embarrassment. Lyman let a smile grow on his face until he pulled John into a tight hug, causing John to stand on his toes due to their difference in stature. He pressed a kiss to John’s cheek, letting his lips linger there for longer than necessary. Eventually, he pulled back and looked John in the eyes, his dark, tired eyes meeting John’s nervous ones.    
  
“Lyman…” John asked quietly, his face stricken with worry. “Have you been crying?”    
If it had been anyone else Lyman would have gotten defensive, but the words simply slipped out. Perhaps he was just exhausted.   
  
“I have.”    
  
John placed both hands on Lyman’s hips with a sad smile. “You need to sleep, doctor. You look…” John paused, not wanting to seem rude, “Unwell.”   
  
Lyman let out a barking laugh. “I look like hell.” John laughed along with him and pressed a warm hand to Lyman’s chest.   
  
“Go home, Lyman.”   
  
The smile faded from his face. “Will… will everything be alright tomorrow?” He asked quietly. John looked at him without any discernible expression.   
  
“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully, and Lyman gave a weak nod. “But,” John continued, “No matter what… I’ll be here for you. You won’t be alone.”    
  
Lyman looked away, not wanting to get emotional once again. “And I will do the same.”    
  
After a long, comfortable yet tense silence, John’s face broke out into a smile once again. “Go! Go home. Sleep. You’ve got a big day tomorrow. We both do.”    
  
“Alright, alright, John. Are you coming?”   
  
John pondered the question for a moment. “No, I think I’ll stay here.” Lyman nodded.    
  
“Alright. Goodnight, John.”   
  
“Goodnight.”    
  
And with one last look into John’s eyes, free from the fear and desperation from only a few hours ago, Lyman realized that his own fear had gone too, and the static in his head had disappeared along with it.    
  
After the short walk back to Edward’s apartment, he fished around in his pocket for his copy of the key and quietly unlocked the door, gently clicking it shut behind him. He toed off his shoes and undid his hair tie once more before climbing into bed as gently as possible. The minute his head hit the pillow, he felt an arm reach across his waist and pull him close. He looked down at the head of ginger hair which was now nuzzling his chest.   
  
“Where have you been, Lyman?” Edward murmured sleepily, “I was starting to worry.”

“I just went out to get some fresh air. No need to worry about me.”   
  
Edward stifled a yawn into Lyman’s chest. “Are you feeling any better, lovely?”   
  
“Yes. Much.”    
  
A sleepy smile covered Edward’s face and he nuzzled deeper into Lyman’s chest.    
  
“Good. Goodnight, love.”   
  
“Goodnight, Edward.”

 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> whew  
> i banged this out in one sitting at like 1 am and it shows


End file.
